AS I SAT in my room, part of me wanted to grab Marcos and punch his lights out. As if that would solve anything. Yeah, a big part of me wanted to hate him. For hurting my dad. But how could I hate him? I knew what I’d seen. Marcos, he loved my dad.
I’d seen the look on Dad’s face too. He loved Marcos back.
And I understood that the love they had wasn’t easy. And maybe they wouldn’t make it, you know, but they were trying, and I knew that. A part of me didn’t want that to happen, because, well, hell, it complicated everything, and everything was complicating everything and, you know, I used to think Sam was the most illogical person in the universe, and now I thought I was.
Me. Me? Who?
OKAY, TIME TO GET DOWN to writing my admissions letter. I made a list of things I should include that some bored person in the admissions office would read.
My father is gay.
I am adopted.
I used to know who I was, but now I don’t.
I’m nothing special.
My best friend, Samantha, is brilliant—?but I am not.
I got a letter from a dead mother, and man, how many boys applying to your school have that?
I am a natural-born boxer.
My grandmother has taught me more than any teacher I’ve ever had in a classroom.
This is not working.
This is not working.
WFTD = Fists. Again?
SO AFTER SCHOOL, we were walking home. That familiar walk that had always been so calm and uneventful, walks that had been filled mostly with Sam’s words and her curiosity about the world. And now, on many of our walks back home from school, Fito joined us, and it was good. Yeah, we were calmly walking back home from school—?Sam and me and Fito. Sam and Fito were talking about The Grapes of Wrath. It was Fito’s favorite book, a book I hadn’t read. Fito said I had to put it on my list. And I thought, Great, another list.
And then as we walked, we saw this group of guys that were taunting Angel, calling him faggot and queer and maricón. They were talking all kinds of shit, and they had him surrounded, and it looked like they were about to beat the holy crap out of him. I must have run toward them, though I don’t remember running. All I remember is that I had this guy by the collar and was shoving him against a chainlink fence. I was right in his face, and I was telling him, “I’m gonna kick your ass from here to Canada.”
And then I felt Sam’s hand on my shoulder. She kept saying, “Let him go. Let him go.”
I slowly let go, and he and his friends took off.
I was numbly staring into Sam’s eyes.
I looked over, and Fito said, “I’m gonna walk Angel home.”
I nodded.
Sam and I didn’t say a word as we started back home.
There were different kinds of silences between us. Sometimes the silences meant that we knew each other so well that we didn’t need words. Sometimes the silences meant that we were mad at each other.
And sometimes the silences meant that we didn’t know each other at all.
Sam. Grief. Sylvia. Mima.
I WAS IN BED, but I wasn’t tired, and I wasn’t sleepy. I kept turning the light off and on. I started reading The Grapes of Wrath, but put it down. It was too daunting and overwhelming. I turned off the light. I turned it on again. Sam texted me: U know there are five stages of grief.
Me: ?
Sam: Yup. Five stages
Me: Where do u get these things?
Sam: Counselor at school Me: U went?
Sam: Last week. Been thinking Me: Good for U
She walked into my room. She was wearing an extra-large El Paso Chihuahuas T-shirt that had an outline of the ears of a Chihuahua dog and said FEAR THE EARS. Stupid. She loved that T-shirt. I was lying in bed. “Five stages, huh?”
“That’s what the experts say.”
“So what?”
“You’re in the anger phase.”
“What?”
“Mima’s dying and you’re in the anger phase.”
“Well, you should know. You’re the expert on phases.”
She uncrossed her arms. She sat on my bed. “Yup, you’re definitely in the anger phase. Phase one equals denial, as in This is not happening.”
I gave her my best fuck-off look, but I knew she wasn’t going to stop.
“Are you listening, Sally Silva?”
“I have a choice here? I mean, you’re totally colonizing my space.”
“Colonizing. Good one.” She didn’t skip a beat. “Phase two equals anger, as in I am so pissed off at God or at whomever because I am not happy that this is happening. That would be you right now.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Did you know that you were cussing as we were running?”
“Was I?”
“And lately you’re quick on the draw—?with your fists, I mean.” She gave me a snarky look.
I started to say something, but didn’t.
“Yup. Phase three equals bargaining, equals, in my case, If I am good for the rest of my life and never say the F word again, will you please bring my mother back, or, in your case, If I never have a bad thought about anybody ever again in my life, will you cure Mima of cancer?” She smiled at me. “I know what I’m talking about.”
I smiled back at her. There was a lot of snark in my smile.
“Phase four equals depression. Yeah, well, depression. Anger turned inward. Yup. And finally, phase five equals acceptance. See, a fucking happy ending. The thing is, the phases, they come and go and appear in different orders.”
“For how long?”
“How the hell should I know? The only phase I’ve completed is the denial one. I aced that test. The other stages, they’re all still clinging to me like bad boys who can’t take no for an answer. And stage five, well, that’s just a dream right now.”
Then she started crying. “I know it’s hard, Sally. But you’re in your head a lot these days, and I miss you. You know the denial phase? That phase has a partner. Isolation, baby.”
“Isolation?”
“Yeah, as in I don’t feel like talking anymore.”
“Well, I don’t feel like talking.”
“I’m trying to figure out if you’re in the isolating phase or the depression phase, because you can do two phases at once. But I never knew you to multitask.”
And then we both cracked up laughing, but we weren’t really laughing, we were crying.
And then I held her as she cried. “I miss Sylvia,” she whispered. “I really miss her.”
Running. On Empty. Fito.
SAM WOKE ME UP early to go running.
“Let’s skip a day,” I said.
“Get your ass out of bed. Move it.”
“I want to do the isolation thing.”
“Up.”
“It’s Saturday. Let me sleep.”
“You can never go back to sleep after you wake up—?and you know it.”
“I hate you.”
“You’ll get over it.”
Some days getting up seemed like a bigger commitment than I was ready for. Get up and show up. That’s what you had to do in life. Well, according to my dad. On the other hand, Uncle Mickey liked to say that everybody deserved a day off from the truth. So there I was, talking to myself as I put on my running shoes.